


Stepping on Toes by Choice

by Ebyru



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, Dubious Consent, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-15
Updated: 2012-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-31 06:15:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebyru/pseuds/Ebyru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel ends up in 2014 in search of the Dean from 2009.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stepping on Toes by Choice

**Author's Note:**

> beta'd by verucasalt123 @ lj.
> 
> Spoilers for season 5, episode 4 (The End) probably.
> 
> Ficlet 2/7

That the world would become so desolate, so hopeless, is frightening. It’s frightening, even for an angel. But Castiel doesn’t intend to stay in this future, won’t let it come to be either. His only reason for being in this depressing time is to find the Dean from his year.

The faster he finds him, the better it is for the both of them.

Castiel is surprised to find that most of his powers still work, except one—transportation. He’s forced to walk everywhere and he’s not used to it. His vessel seems in shape—which allows him to walk for as long as it takes—but his wings are stiff, eager to be used again.

There’s a cabin hidden in the woods, and Castiel can sense a familiar presence inside. He jogs over to it, not bothering to knock before entering. There’s a man sitting at a table, cleaning his gun. Castiel would know that gun anywhere, couldn’t mistake those hands for anyone else’s, knows that concentrated look on his face.

It only took three hours of hiking, but he’s found Dean.

Dean looks up when he hears Castiel stepping closer. His eyes widen, and he drops the gun on the table without worrying about the pieces falling to the ground.

“Cas?” he says hesitantly, his voice rougher than the angel remembers.

“I’m here to bring you back, Dean,” he smiles. They could finally be rid of this wretched reality.

“Bring me back?” Dean squints, stepping closer to the angel. “I see.”

Castiel tilts his head, narrowing his eyes. Something is wrong with Dean. Maybe he’s mistaken, maybe this isn’t him at all. But he knows his smell, knows his soul, knows the aura around his charge; this is Dean. “Are you ready to go now?”

Dean shakes his head, shortening the distance between them. “Not yet.”

He grabs the angel’s arm, dragging him in for a bruising kiss, nipping and sucking at his lips, ignoring the sounds of protest.

“Wait—what—”

Castiel fights not to melt into the kiss, tries not to enjoy the special attention his charge is providing. But he’s weaker than he thought. His virginal hormones are begging for this so shamelessly. Dean doesn’t show any sign of stopping, or guilt.

He spins the angel, discarding the trench coat and jacket.  Castiel wishes he could see what Dean looks like when he’s falling apart, but he’s content to just be touched like this, his fingers curling into the ridges of the cabin’s wall.

Dean rips his white dress shirt open, scraping blunt nails down his chest, and Castiel presses his hips into the taller man. He fights to turn, to get a look at Dean before they go any further, but Dean’s hands are already down his pants, pushing them down roughly.

Castiel feels sick suddenly, his vessel warning him of what’s to come. His charge rubs his erection between the angel’s spread cheeks, once, twice, and begins to press in afterwards.

The scream that rips through his human vocal chords is as much a shock to him as it is to Dean.

He feels the movement slow down, but Dean is intent on pushing forward. Inch by painful inch push into Castiel’s unused entrance. His fingers scrape at the wall, his throat still burning from the scream. A hand cups his cheek, rubbing over his bottom lip soothingly, and Castiel focuses on that instead of the length impaling him tantalizingly slowly.

When he feels like he can’t take it anymore, it suddenly becomes tolerable; some semblance of normalcy engulfing his mind and body. Then it’s filling him up, and the warmth is surrounding him, Dean’s thumb dipping into his mouth. When the pleasure finally kicks in, Castiel is sucking on the probing finger willingly with loud, explicit sounds, trying to keep his moans at bay.

Dean sets a punishing pace, the noise of skin slapping against skin making Castiel barely hang on to his sanity. The angel is already so close that when his charge’s fingers find the end of his cock and squeeze roughly, he can’t command his body anymore and he spills into the warm palm.

He’s sinking against the wall when Dean’s soiled fingers wrap around his waist and hold him in place, ramming into him faster and faster. Castiel is lost, his soul floating high and far away from the irresistible half-moan, half-whimpers Dean is breathing into the back of his neck. If he could climax again, he would.

Dean hits a spot inside Castiel, making him cry out and clench harder. The taller man tenses up, spilling into his beloved angel with a jolt of pleasure. His breathing is erratic, but sensual in the way that Castiel is the only one around to hear it. Even if he can’t see him.

Castiel nearly falls over when Dean pulls out quickly, tucking himself in and zipping his jeans.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers softly. His voice is low, small. “I’m so sorry Cas.”

The angel hears his name, but he feels like Dean is speaking to someone else. “What do you mean?” he fumbles to tuck himself back in, closing the buttons of his shirt that were left intact. His skin is screaming with the leftover feeling of orgasm still pumping through his veins. It’s hard to remember what he’s asking. “Why are you sorry?”

Dean kneels down, “I’m sorry for letting you die.” Tears slide down his cheeks as he clings to the angel’s hips.

Castiel can see it now, knows why he doubted his tingling senses when he first stepped inside. This is Dean, but not the Dean he’s been looking for.


End file.
